Under the Gazebo
by DaniellaPeirce
Summary: Not good with summeries, so just read please!


**Under the Gazebo.**

So, this is my first fanfic! Hope you like it.

I do not own American Horror Story, and trust me if I _did,_ the second series would have something to do with the Harmonds, or at least Michael.

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Violet took a long drag of her cigarette and blew out the smoke. "Quit staring at me." She took another drag. She shouldn't have even acknowledged him, now he wasn't going to leave her _alone_. And, she wondered absently to herself if she would be able to pin him down long enough to sear a nice Smiley Face _on_ his face with her lighter, and then see how long it'd take for it to heal. Violet blew out the cigarette smoke from her already dead lungs and played with a frayed piece on her dress. But he'd let her do it, she knew that for a fact; she'd done it before. He hadn't complained then and she doubted he would if she were to do it again. With a sigh Violet hopped off the wooden railing of the gazebo and flicked her still burning death stick in Tate's general direction.

She smiled as she heard him curse when it hit him.

It was going to take longer than sixteen years for her to forgive him for what he'd done. A _lot_ longer. '_But then_,' she thought herself, '_how can you forgive someone for something they don't even understand is wrong?_' Her dad told her that Tate was a psychopath, and given how events had played out previously, and the fact that Ben was a psychiatrist, Violet was inclined to believe her father. The monster next door echoed the one usually residing in the house's basement. Michael was handsome, she give the little devil that, but wasn't that what the actual devil was? Beautiful? Michael had only gotten more so over the years, and he knew it, whenever he could he'd use it to his advantage. When he was younger he appeared an angel, then he'd murdered his nanny after she didn't let him into the cookie jar.

He'd come over to the house every few Christmas' with his old hag of a grandmother, Constance. 'To spend time with his father.' The old bitch had said, but Violet was pretty sure Constance just wanted to show the ghosts of the house what she had, and what they would never. Family, a grandson, grandchildren in general, Violet would think as Constance paraded him around.

There was only one reason that she hadn't killed the—what was it Tate called her? Oh, right Cock-sucker— the cock-sucker; Violet had no desire to have to put up with her weatherworn face for the rest of eternity. The other ghosts in the house seemed to be in agreement, because every time a new family moved in, or whenever Christmas rolled around, as soon as Constance stepped foot in the Murder House, they scrammed. Disappearing to the attic or the basement, or just not letting her see themselves.

Even the Fearless—Whore—Hayden ran and hid, only to watch Constance with distain from the shadows.

Violet snorted at the thought as she opened the back door; there was a new family living here now, and it'd be funny to watch their faces when they found the back door open when they got home from shopping, or where ever they'd been. She turned and glanced back at the gazebo her father had built. Tate was still there, golden blonde curls mussed and covering his dark eyes, but they were still locked onto her form. And a nice burn was starting to heal just below his right eye. Violet smiled at him because of it, and he returned it; although hesitantly, not quite sure what she was going to do to him next. His voice was deep and shy as it hit her ears, "I love you." His face and the tone were sad when he said that, and it made Violet do a double take and bite her tongue to keep from answering him with an automatic 'Love you too.'

Instead, she scowled at him, "I know." Her words weren't as scathing as she'd meant them, and it brought her up short.

It was Halloween and her parents weren't there to talk her out of the idea that she'd just come up with. On Halloween the ghosts could walk freely. Violet had nowhere to go, so she just stayed at the house and listened to her grunge music. Because she stayed, he did too. With a sigh Violet stalked back toward the gazebo. She hesitated before him and he stared wide eyed like a child up at her. "This doesn't mean I forgive you." She said ruefully as she bent down and brushed her lips against his briefly. She didn't touch him with anything but her lips and he didn't push; maybe because he wasn't expecting her to go from flicking lit cigarettes in his face to sucking his face.

Violet still loved him, she knew that. But the rush of emotions that came with the contact of lips made her jerk her head back and frown at him. A full blown grin was on his face and she pushed down the urge to slap it off. "This doesn't mean I forgive you." She repeated, more to herself than him. Tate reached up to touch her face and Violet jerked back out of his reach, taking a step back as she did so. "I know." He whispered. She scowled at him and he returned it with a Cheshire grin. Was it possible to hate and love someone at the same time? Violet thought angrily to herself, that yes, it most certainly was. Though she'd never voice this to him, 'cause knowing Tate, the only part he'd get would be the 'love'. But she _did_ love him; she just hated what he'd done to Chad, Patrick and other people in the house.

Violet knew that as soon as the others came home she'd start to feel guilty for kissing him, but until then she'd enjoy the memory of his lips against hers. '_One day maybe_,' she thought absently as she walked silently and unseen up the stairs to _their_ room, one day, maybe, she could forgive him.

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Please review, and thanks for reading! :D

DaneillaPeirce.


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